


Cold Winds and Warm Hearths

by DarthSuki



Category: Final Fantasy XIV
Genre: Cold Weather, Dry Humping, F/M, Gender-Neutral Warrior of Light (Final Fantasy XIV), Gender-neutral Reader, M/M, Miqo'te Warrior of Light (Final Fantasy XIV), Multi, Semi-Public Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-07
Updated: 2019-03-07
Packaged: 2019-11-13 06:34:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,080
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18026597
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DarthSuki/pseuds/DarthSuki
Summary: After meeting Haurchefant Greystone through a series of quests in order to clear the name of Lord Francel de Haillenarte, you find yourself coming back to Camp Dragonhead quite regularly and getting to know him quite well. Though an odd man, you can't help but find Haurchefant endearing. Attractive, even.Perhaps sparring with him is not the best idea.





	Cold Winds and Warm Hearths

**Author's Note:**

> This was written for a request made on my FFXIV writing blog. If you would like to submit a request or check out my other related work, [go check it out here!](https://finalfantasyxivwritings.tumblr.com/)

Sparring with Haurchefant comes a bit as a surprise. It’s not as if he had ambushed you fresh off the teleport to Camp Dragonhead’s aetheryte, but declaring his intent to do chivalrous battle with you the moment you step into the camp’s grand hall is certainly close enough.

You’re a bit too distracted by how he looks and sounds to reject the offer outright–he laughs as he challenges you, claiming that you’ve been gone far too long, he needs to see if your skills are as good as they were before. It’s an excuse to get out of his chair and away from paperwork, you figure, and merely gaze upon his delighted expression as he all but vaults over his desk to drag you off.

So, to say the least, sparring with Haurchefant is not exactly what you intended on doing in your first ten minutes of arriving in the familiar Coerthas camp.

He moves faster than you assumed of him. There’s a grace to each strike, a power pressed forward without an ounce of restraint behind the sword and it comes at you with a swiftness that leaves your head nearly spinning. It’s a challenge to merely parry and dodge each strike let alone try to offer one in turn–the flurry of motions leave you and your sparring partner moving in what feels like an intricate dance, but to an outsider it appears to be but a game of cat and mouse–and the cat is the one losing.

It’s a warm day for the Coerthas Highlands, though it hardly means a thing when you feel as if your tail and ears are about to freeze right off of your body. It’s not as if you’re poorly dressed for the climate either–layers of clothing cover your body from head to toe–but it seems as if nothing can keep the chill from settling deep in your bones.

The cold proves rather distracting, at the very least; if not that, then the man trading blows with you certainly comes as a very close second, with how you see his body stretch and move with each cleave of his dulled blade towards you.

“You’ve gotten faster!” Haruchefant declares with mirth, sounding none too breathless despite the intricate dance of your bodies. “Not to say you weren’t quick before, dear friend–I daresay your combat skills are-”

You rush at him, taking the opening unveiled as he speaks with the slightest touch of guilt–he looks so happy in his words, pride unbound for you in way few others ever speak with.

But at least it’s quick, your body tackling into his chest and sending the both of you falling to the ground. There’s a dull thump as both of you hit the cold earth, you overtop Haurchefant’s body, and a sharper noise as his weapon clatters some yalms away.

For what feels like too many moments all you and the Elezen man do is stare at one another, blinking in your mutual surprise for separate reasons.

“Dear warrior of light,” he says, making a gesture with one hand and no move to neither get up or remove you from atop him. “If you had desire of me beneath you, all you need do is ask for the pleasure.”

You feel a rush of heat come to your cheeks as you realize the position is hardly innocent; your legs astride the other’s hips and your upper body hovering over him is certainly not a pose you wish to linger with.

And yet you do.

Yet you stay atop him, feeling your heartbeat hammer against your ribs and thoughts fill up your mind until it starts to hurt. You should say something, maybe even play off the moment as but a joke or an unfortunate happenstance of physical training, but all you can do is stare into his eyes in disconnected rapture. It’s almost as if your mind and body are in separate places.

Warmth stirs evermore in the pit of your stomach, leaving your mouth feeling dry and your fingers twitching, as if aching to touch something. You feel your lips part and hear words fall from them before you have the ability to think:

“What if I didn’t want to ask first?”

You catch those soulful, ocean-blue eyes as they widen in but a moment of surprise. Haurchefant looks at you, expression open and vulnerable as he filter your words–perhaps he hadn’t even considered such a response to his humor (but was it _simply_ humor?). Nevertheless the fact that he doesn’t nudge you off his body let alone make the motions of attempt is not lost even from your desire-riddled mind.

If anything, the fact only serves to strengthen it–your heart beats ever faster as you lean over him, getting closer and closer without consciously meaning to.

“Would you…” you murmur, sounding far more confident than you actually feel. “Have me leave? If I did such a thing?”

“Absolutely not,” Haurchefant argues breathily, determination in his tone only proving his honesty. “Quite the opposite in fact; I would let you do as you wanted.”

You feel rather than see his hands move, fingertips carefully brushing up your upper thighs. Breath feels unsteady as it passes your lips and into your lungs, cold enough that it stings. Haurchefant feels so warm beneath you though, hands finding your hips as you sit astride him,  chests and faces but inches from one another.

Your body moves without order or reason. Desire instead fuels you at this moment, hips starting to shift ever so slightly, softly–it’s a motion almost imperceivable to anyone who had the unfortunate timing to find the two of you but it’s as subtle as a sword clattering to the ground.

“And what if I wanted you like this-” you start, grinding your hips down upon his in earnest, feeling the way your bodies slot together. “Beneath me. Whimpering. Wanting.”

Haurchefant’s eyes hold even far better than his voice, which comes out as a half-broken whisper.

“Then beneath you I’d be,” the man’s hands grip your hips a little tighter; even through the layers of clothes you can feel the pressure, the squeeze of his hands holding you down against him but making no  effort to move your hips other than how you choose. “You would find no shortage of willing participation.”

The heat grows in the pit of your stomach, almost controlling the pressure and speed of your hips as you grind down with even more need. Haurchefant makes a noise between a gasp and a moan and you feel his back arch up. Your chests finally touch, pressing together as the last vestiges of restraint flee your thoughts.

“And if I kissed you?”

Through the amusement you can see it, a look of growing _want_ filling his eyes at the sound of your words–he makes no effort to hide it, the smile on his face or the purr of his reply.

“My dear friend, dare I say you should do it–and find out the risks for yourself.”

Before you can breath, can even _think_ , you’re already kissing him.

Lips press hard against one another, a moment of unmeant excitement leaving both of you trying desperately to find a pace. Even as you feel a discernable shape grow hard and hot beneath you Haurchefant kisses with passion, a slow press of lips and a curious tongue slipping between them. Your noses bump in a few moments of soft, awkward intimacy–the sort of two lovers newly knowing one another–but it doesn’t detract from the blooming fire between your legs.

Though you are hidden from immediate view, it would take nothing more than an overly curious guard to turn the corner of one of the buildings and catch the two of you together, bodies grinding against one another like desperate teenagers trying to catch but the slightest taste of climax together.

There’s nothing special about the moment itself–the two of you are still outside and on the training grounds in the cold, sharp Coerthas winds. There’s no roses, no fine meal, no real flirting of any sort (but anything that’s come out of Haurchefant’s mouth up until this point is suspect). Though you know the elezen lord would do all of the above and more in but a heartbeat, there’s something so _delicious_ in the action of rutting together as if the two of you were caught in a feverish heat.

It’s perfect.

You moan into Haurchefant’s mouth, feeling yourself race to the edge as all of the feelings of the moment come to the forefront of your mind. The cold wind, the wet heat of his kiss, the mere perversion in the fact that anyone could catch the two of you an excitement that sends a shiver down your spine.

“I want-” you moan into his mouth, hands gripped into the fabric at the front of the man’s woolen coat. “I…want…t-to…H-Haurche-….fant…!”

You can’t begin to string the words together as the pleasure only grows in your belly, tight as a bowstring and hot as the kindling fires within the grand halls of the keep.

With the sound of your voice, your pleas, it seems that Haurchefant can’t keep himself quite as still anymore. Though he still takes no control from your hips you feel him press up, grinding hard and needy in equal measure of your own. His back arches and his teeth nip at your lower lip, his legs shift to get grip of the ground and press even harder up and against you.

There’s no denying his arousal and need, not when you can feel it hot and throbbing even between several thick layers of clothing that barely keeps the chill from your bones. Nothing can halt the thoughts of him naked from your brain, the sight of him bare as can be or the feeling of hot skin and hotter kisses. You wonder what he would feel like inside of you, how he might moan unabashed and unmuted by the fear of being caught. You wonder so many things in but the span of a few moments as the two of you writhe together in growing need for climax.

Despite the chill of the air, the end is hot and tense and mind-numbing. You moan into Haurchefant’s kiss, his hands gripping so tight over your body that you vaguely wonder if it’s even possible to leave bruises through so many layers of clothes.

You’re hardly in a moment to give it much thought regardless, as all you can do is clutch at the elezen’s body as each wave of euphoria moves through you, each growing weaker than the last until finally you lay atop him, boneless and tired and–oh-

Oh it’s cold.

Very, very cold.

You must shiver or otherwise give Haurchefant some reason to worry over you because he instantly wraps his arms around your body and sits himself up with you against his chest.

“Well,” he begins, sounding almost too cheery for a man who just climaxed from dry-humping you in the middle of the training grounds. “I hope myself correct in thinking we’ve a bit to talk about while you’re here–but later, you are far too cold for any sort of discussion.”

There’s not a moment to argue before you feel his arms loosen from you for just a breath only to be replaced with the thick, mildly scratchy warmth of an oversized woolen jacket being pulled around your shoulders. Even when you find words of complaint–Haurchefant is only in a hempen undershirt for the twelves’ sake–he hushes you softly, but not before taking one of your hands between his own.

“Lest you have desire to feel kinship with icicles, let us get you somewhere warm–my quarters, perhaps?”

You can’t miss the soft waggle of Haurchefant’s brows at the suggestion, sweet and flirtatious in the same breath. When no argument is offered and no words or noises made but a soft laughter from between your covered lips, the man led you off the training grounds and finally inside of the keep, to warmer air and no shortage of attentive (and rather beloved) company.

Nobody catches sight of neither you nor the elezen lord for several hours into the evening, too busy are the two of you in eachother’s company to care about anything but one another.


End file.
